Kwanjula somewhere close to the Malaba border

After I thought that I was done with all my functions for this year, I was surprised by yet another where I had to travel to Malaba close to the border to escort a close family friend for introduction to his girl’s family. 

I expected nothing less than excitement and fan fare but the start of the day was proving to be much less entertaining.

We arrived at the home of his fiancés parents, only to be told that they needed a few minutes to prepare for us. A few minutes turned out to be approximately 20 minutes to half an hour before we were welcomed and ushered in. The entire time we were in line I wondered to myself why brides are always frantic before their grooms arrive because we had been called not less than 5 times before our arrival. We were told we were late only to arrive just 15 minutes short of the scheduled time and then they were not. Anyway I digress, so we walked in and waited to be told to take our seats only for a lady bearing an official tag to tell us to sit down.

Me: ‘Are you sure?’

Lady Official: ‘Yes, you can sit down.’

So we sat down but not even 10 seconds passed before I felt a tag at the arm of my busuti by one of the people in our party.  

Best man: ‘We have not been told to sit down.’

I obliged but was rather annoyed at these Kwajula tests and antics that I had completely forgotten about probably owing to overload of events I have already attended this year as well as the drive from Kampala early that morning. The program commenced albeit rather slowly with a few tunes being churned out by the DJ as the first group of girls came to greet. The sad thing is that the entire time the group of girls was walking to their places to greet us the music kept skipping and this happened over and over. 

This happened so much so that after greeting the girls sat on the mat in front of us for about 15 minutes as we waited for their microphone to be turned on or the mishap with the music to be sorted out. After an awkward silence and patient wait, a loud thud was heard as the tune “gamba ku jeniffer’ strummed away for a couple of seconds before it was abruptly cut off only to be replaced with ‘Sitya loss song’ the new equally inappropriate one.

DJ madness aside, we decided to enjoy the day no matter what followed but nothing prepared us for this. There was a cultural troop that came to entertain us in dance and song and we were delighted to soak up as much of the local culture as we could. As the dancers came around the corner of the host’s tent, we were happy and clapped in unison to show our gratitude but the clapping died down as we took notice of the last dancer. It was a gentleman in a skirt (probably with a pair of shorts underneath) and a spaghetti top with a bra underneath.

Most of you may be wondering ‘How did you know that he had a bra underneath the spaghetti top?’

My response; ‘Because the black top was ill fitting and the white bra was peeping through the top.’

Now if any of you thought this was the highlight of the day, then you do not know what you missed when you did not tag along for this event. The accompanying crew continued to play their instruments as the dancers danced off behind the tent from which they came since the DJ’s equipment had failed to recover the entire day. So as we enjoyed listening to the xylophone and flute which were punctuated by a male vocalist we could not understand, we lost interest as we broke up into groups and began to converse amongst ourselves.

A while later at the climax of this musical piece, we were startled to hear the vocalist scream loudly saying, ‘I miss you, I care for you, I welcome you...’

We began to shout in response at every pause but nothing prepared us for his final lines.

Male vocalist: ‘I love you, I want you, I touch you....’

At this point all the old men who had escorted the groom responded ehhhh and the vocalist continued to escalate these intimate sentiments in song.

Male vocalist: ‘I kiss you, I touch you....’

Here every one visitor and host alike burst out in laughter as some even stood to give the gentleman a hand clap as he ended his piece. All the girls rose from the mat from whence they had been greeting; blushing and I can confidently say that there was not a dry eye in the audience from the roars of laughter.   

Day 6/7 Kwanjulas bring out the best and worst in people

I know you must be wondering why I am writing quite a number of my tales on kwanjulas (traditional marriage celebrations) but it is to give you a well rounded view of what actually happens away from the spotlight. 

The behind the scenes stories of the most annoying and hilarious conversations that people do not often share after the fact.

So on a normal sunny day after a great deal of hustle and bustle getting ready for a kwanjula, we set off in high spirits and arrived about an hour and 15 minutes later than expected;  but to my surprise we were not fined. After a long and drawn out dialogue between the omwogezi's (spokesmen), we were ushered to our seats.

We made a bee line for them only to attempt to get seated in an orderly manner but it proved quite difficult and uncomfortable. The chairs had been staked so close together we barely had room to get through the seats and sit down. Also the fact that this situation was made only even more dire with tables fitted within our sitting tent that was expected to sit about 100 people. The table had taken up space for probably 15 – 20 people so we were all squashed like sardines in a tightly wrapped package.

Sitting arrangements aside I was unfortunate to sit behind a lady who decided to travel with her infant to this event, all I can say is that the day was quite the experience. Initially we arrived and waited to be asked to sit down by the spokesman from the girl’s side but as soon as we were granted permission it all began. I was the one in charge of handling the flower for identifying the bride as is now an unwritten tradition in our family. The lady with a child handed him over and began fussing about where the flower should be put and all.

Lady: ‘Muteke kimuli wansi,’ she said in a bossy tone. (Put the flower down)

My sister and I looked at her stunned at ho w she all of a sudden was giving us instructions at this point but decided to be polite about it all. There was no need to fuss.

Lady: ‘Kiteke wansi,’ she repeated a couple of seconds later in a very insistent tone.  

Now at this point the 3 of us were still standing while the rest of our team was seated because we were waiting for her to pull her chair forward and sit down so that we could follow suit but she was fussing about something so trivial. So the next time she turned around I tugged at my sister’s hand and urged her to sit down as we set the heavy flower on the table next to us.

As though on queue the lady turned around and began to eye us shifting and turning from side to side and could not sit still in one position.

Lady: ‘Mukatadee awoo,’ (you have placed it there) she said in a tone that made it seem to be a question but was instructive as well.

Me: ‘Ehhh nyabo!’ (Yes madam)

Lady: ‘Naye bagenda kilaba, mukateke wansi.’(But they are going to see it)

Me: ‘Nkatekewa, (where do I put it?) I responded as I directed her gaze to the space that remained between my sister while all this time I was asking myself what all this fuss was about.

Lady: ‘Kabera bulungi nga okitadde wansi.’ (It is nice when you hide it down)

Me: ‘ Ehh, I responded politely but did not lift a finger to move the flower anywhere else.

 I silently thought to myself, why the fuss after all they already saw the flower when I walked in past their tent as I headed to my seat. My sister only shook her head and smiled as she watched the staring match that ensued between the lady and I.

Moments later it was something else; in the midst of all the activity she began to move her chair further and further behind until a point where she almost maimed my leg with that of her chair about 5 times. The 5^th time I shot out my hand and shoved her chair forward instinctively and continued to pay attention to what the Omwogezi (spokesman) was saying. Kindly understand, I was not picking a fight but neither was I going to entertain this silliness and trivialities any longer.

About an hour and a half later we were taken to serve food and my sister and I decided to go among the last because we did not want to stand in line for a long time. Now she on the other hand went in the first batch and so returned to her seat when we were heading to the serving area. When we got back her chair was back to back with mine and my sister could not get to her seat that was on the other side of mine.

She looked stunned as we stood over the lady who was demolishing her luwombo and chattering on with her company for about 2minutes. When I realised she had not noticed our presence, I asked my sister to excuse me and step aside and I dealt with the issue.

Me: ‘Nyabo, katuyite ko.’ (Madam, could you let us pass.)

The lady finished her piece of chicken before she got up and excused us and I made sure that before she sat down I intentionally moved her chair forward so that I could actually sit down. The moral of this story is when you are in Rome do as the Romans do but when you are at war pull out your gun and get ready to shoot.